The Girl in the Window

“Lemme tell you what I wrote so far,” I said to Monroe. He didn’t look at all excited about what I probably wrote for the essay. His attention was everywhere else and he was giving me little respect. Took me too long just to get his attention and knew he was giving me nothing but attitude.

“Prolly horrible.”

“Man, whatever.” I skimmed through the first paragraph before I explained it to him.

“Okay, I open with talkin’ bout the issue with the judicial system and racism,” I started to say. “Then I explained that there are many reason why it happens. The second paragraph starts with slavery—”

“Bro, why?” He cut me off.

“Because we’re supposed to use historical references, asshole,” I snapped, mainly because he cut me off.

“Damn, you got a nasty temper. But that’s typical.”

“Fuck you. Now let me continue.” I skimmed the second paragraph. “I start the second paragraph talking bout the past. I wrote that because of slavery and white men enslaving African Americans, white people started feeling superior to African Americans because they were made slaves to a new world they knew nothing about. I put that the feeling of superiority causes racism which went on for centuries – roughly three centuries – causing the racism to worsen and, a racist lifestyle adopted by many while people due to their power over black people. Because it stretched on for so long, many white people – in the justice system – have prejudice and racist thoughts towards African Americans.”

“Really?” he started to say. “I highly doubt something that long ago would make white people racist. Besides, you rarely see racism nowadays.”

“Are you kidding? You’ve lived in da south yo’ whole life and you tellin me you never seen racism?” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Not really.” I looked at him sideways, shaking my head.

“Wow, okay. That’s all I got so far.”

“I think you should change your part ‘bout slavery and racism.”

“Da fuck for? It’s relevant. You needa do yo’ research and stop ignoring racism. Jus’ ‘cause you don’t see it a lot ‘cause half da school is black, don’t mean it doesn’t exist.” He shrugged his shoulders again and I just wanted to break them.

I went on for a while more writing my ideas down for the essay because I wanted it to be perfect. It was a sensitive subject to me because my daddy had been put in prison for something he didn’t do and died there. It broke my head and part of me wanted to do something about it. Apparently my teacher had big ideas for out essays.

Monroe didn’t have a clue. He wasn’t even districted to that school. He came from a wealthy neighborhood and was put at the school to break up the financial similarities of the school. That boy couldn’t give three fucks about our black hands and faces. He didn’t give a damn about the black people living around me rotting away. He never really lived with it or around it. All he cared about was himself and that freckled face bitch, Molly. He had been sheltered all his life by his nonsense parents.

When the lunch bell rang, I was saved. I got up and left the room like I was waiting for that time all my life.

When Sasha came to the lunch table, she seemed upset. Automatically I felt responsible for her anger even though I didn’t know what she was upset about. She did the thing most black girls did when they’re upset; bounce their leg up and down with their foot.



Some song lyrics I wrote that matched her obvious anger.



So I started to sing softly, just enough for her to hear me, and no one else.

“Cling onto our sanity, bearing humanity, who are we, but the crucial steps we take?” She calmed her furious leg and looked around. “The world seems flat to me, if I jumped off who would see? No one but the god we believe, Show me who is he.

“We try to hold our hands, but our happiness is dead. All we have left is this hate. Tell me who’s to blame, when I hold my head in shame. Our lives will never be… the same.” Her eyes watered and with a blink, her tears fell. They flowed like a stream but my singing didn’t stop. She shook her head in anger then looked at me.

“I’ma kill dis bitch,” she said.

“What bitch?” She wiped away her tears, trying not to ruin her already ruined makeup.

“My old ex. She fuck Darnell like mad when we were dating. I’ma kill Darnell too. And she lied to me. I thought I loved that bitch but the lies keep stacking up. She cheated on me with another bitch too. At first our relationship was just on hold. Now dis shit is officially over. I’ma fuck her up dough. I’ma show her who she fuckin wit’.”

“But why?”

“Why what?’

“Why fight her?”

“I can’t let her get away wit’ dat shit!” She cried some more. My head raced. Did she know I fucked Darnell before? Would she be upset?

“How do you feel about Darnell?” I asked.

“Come on Shade. He’s my best friend. I love him like a brother. He’s there for me, and I’m there for him.”

“Okay.” It was the heat of the moment. I didn’t want her to burn. She wiped her face and snot away, not wanting to eat.

“Did you write that song?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had skills like dat?’ I shrugged my shoulders. She smiled, looking gorgeous even with the fucked up makeup and red eyes. “I wish you could be my fall off girl.”

“Now ya’know we can’t have none of dat.”

“Yeah, dammit Shade, I know...” Her eyes wandered. I could still see that violence gleam in her eyes. She shook her head.

“Damn, you remind me… you jus’ like em.” I didn’t know who she was talking about and I was afraid to ask.



“So what you gonna do?” She looked at me like I was mentally challenged. But there was a reason to my question.

“Shade, are you okay? You actin’ like you slow. I said I’ma beat her ass.”

“What’s the point?”

“Fuck Shade. I told you I don’t go out like dat. I fucking broke up with the bitch because she kept lyin’ to mah ass, but I let dat shit slide. Den Darnell tol’ me when he was high out of his mind last night dat dey fucked. I almost kicked his ass but he was defenseless. Das too much fo’ me.”

“Why was Darnell high?”

“He was upset about his parents and he got to his crazy mad state so I gave him an L. He was only supposed to puff a few times but he smoked the whole clip.” She let out a short laugh, sucking snot. I smiled slightly. “I let him sleep it off and rubbed his back so he would fall asleep. he started telling me things I didn’t need to know.”

“Anything about anyone else?”

“Nah, mostly about him.” It came to me like an epiphany, but I wasn’t going to verify my thoughts. I needed more info before I made the assumption.

“But yeah, I can’t let dat one slide.”

[cetner]Could it be the fury that

We emit into the atmosphere?

All the baggage we hold inside

Breaks loose, to make a sight.

Walking home and I saw my mother talking to that light skinned man. Two things ran through my mind as I walked closer to home: one, my mother was home earlier than usual and two, the neighbor constantly glanced at me while talking to my ma. I feared the cause of the first observation the most

“Oh hey Shade,” my ma said. But I heard it as an echo, diluted by the air. The strange guy waved his hand at me, with a slight smile on his face. I looked away and heard the wind chimes in his hand jingle like the beginning of a Christmas carol. My mother must have said something else to me, but my ears couldn’t receive it. I just heard the wind chimes and my feet punishing the sidewalk. Air whipping my face. The tinge in my throat. I expected the worse.

“Shade, didn’t you hear me calling?” I had just finished up my homework and already my ma was bothering me. “I was gonna introduce you to the neighbor, Mr. Daniels. He cuter up close.” She winked her eye.

“Why you home early?” I blurted. I looked her directly into her eyes. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the orange juice. She sipped on it slowly. She leaned against the sink, facing me, the way Jim did.

“Quit my job. Figured wit’ da money Jim make...” Had I lost it? My vision blurred. My hands started shaking and my heart thudded in my ears. I was on my feet with a vase in my hand. My ma holding her hands out.

“Shade... put that down... right fuckin’ now.” It was her expensive vase. But at that time I didn’t give four fucks.

“You need to control this anger of yours.” I looked at her then looked at the vase.

“Shade... hand me the vase.” I held the vase over my head then slammed it on the ground. Shards of it caught my leg, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Only the blood dripping down my leg.

“Dammit Shade!” She slapped me. That only made things worse. I picked up everything in sight and made a collage with it on the floor. I threw ceramic and plastic plates, glass cups, vases, jewelry, anything in sight. My ma covered her face, crying in the corner of the kitchen. I was making my own wind chimes. They were anger chimes. All original. Completely authentic.

When I ran out of things to destroy, I marched away. My ma was crying louder than I heard before. It was a cry someone did when they were angry. Then she followed me.

“You’re fucking crazy! You need some serious help!” She was on my back. “You can never be happy for me! You’re a horrible daughter! Sometimes I wish I never had you!” She was being a real bitch.

“You ain’t that great of a mother either.” She pushed me through my room door. I quickly turned around and she jumped back. Then she held herself, looking helpless.

“Don’t ask for shit to eat either.” I slammed the door on her face and locked it. I turned my music up loud and scribbled down lyrics. My writing was barely legible and the lyrics were garbage. I just needed to write before I lost it. When my writing became scribbles and broke pencils I gave up. I decided to run myself a hot bath. I put my iPod on the sink top and in my bathroom and put it on my jazz and soul playlist. Didn’t Cha Know by Erykah Badu played as I stripped and stepped into the hot water. The cuts on my legs started to burn and turned the soapless water pale pink. The air smelled like iron. But with my anger, the smell was alluring. I sunk my head under the water and opened my eyes. Faintly I could hear Sade’s Long Hard Road. Under the water, it sounded more depressing. Closed my eyes. I could just die right here, I thought. No one would really care. It would have looked like an unintentional accident. But drowning was painful. I came up for air and looked at my legs. The blood didn’t stop. Bleeding to death was less painful.

Legs bandaged. Lights off. Room quite. Tears fell. Finally, I cried. Why cry? What did it do? Still felt like shit. Still had to deal with everyday problems. But I had to cry.